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GAY PRIDE
VIRGINIA WANTS TO SEE YOUR CREATIVE SIDE!Send your original poetry/short stories/photography/artwork to Chris
at press@gaypridevirginia.org by email with your attachment(s) and we will post a select number of entries on
our site (based on content, theme and GPV submission guidelines). Check this
page frequently for updates and occasional contests!
Poetry
Loving you… It’s cold outside and the radio is turned on to some
indistinct channel With static seeping through... You’re out and I’m wrapped in a quilt that your mother made,
Sitting by the window as if I’m waiting for your return but
don’t quite know it. I’m falling in love but don’t really know how to show it. I’ve talked around the words, Cursed and reversed them, Blown them into your face like cigarette smoke… Warm whispers when I was sure you were asleep… Deep, but aimless conversations over green tea on your
patio. Your kiss always just one touch away… I’ve fallen but can’t find the words to say… In a card? In a dozen generic red roses I paid too much for? Perhaps in a poem. - Bryan Mayfield, Richmond, VA Switch. He’s one of those fast talking, sugar-sweet-walking pretty
boys with stars for eyes and a smile that speaks for itself. You know the type. A reputation abundant in health, full of … “Gurl, guess what I heard…” and “that’s a damn shame”
whispers and giggles within earshot. But he just laughs and kicks up his heels, happy to be
“revealed” for what everyone swears is “the real him”. It’s unsettling at best but he’s not the least restless,
worrying about what those critics have
to say. “Bollocks, to them,”
he says… He sweats under stage lights, dwelling aimlessly in the
spotlight… where his days bleed into night – and he suddenly finds the
sun a somber blue pendant, hung in the sky from wires, as if its lost the way. One party bleeds into the next until he’s spending his
downtime in oversized designer shades, bent over mediocre reviews as he drinks
his Avian at an undisclosed crowded sidewalk café. “Isn’t that…?” He looks away and pretends to not hear the rumors and lies
that his dynasty rests on. He’s all smiles for the camera and adds an extra switch in
his step while strolling the red carpet. The media mongrels are puppets with their strings twisted
around his fingers… The fashion houses are vampires... Banging down his door,
only to strip him bare and dress him up in razor sharp couture and more pretty,
red lies. He’s numb to it all… A victim to it all, but he loves playing the part… Loves not taking it to heart and being everything they said
he couldn’t possibly achieve.
He loves that they love to hate him… Loves how they try to label him … Loves how they repeatedly mistake him … for someone that cares. - Christopher Murphy, Richmond Virginia Nicholas says it doesn’t come easy, With a smile so dim that I’m squinting to see. And it wouldn’t hurt to laugh a little Like
the child that you are When I’m
holding your hand and rubbing the back of your neck with cold hands That use to feel like magic. And he does what he does … Makes it look so easy. With clammy hands, tied behind his back, and a blindfolded
smile Upside down. And I try to just be, I try to break free to figure out his illusion But it’s all just my eyes … playing tricks on me. - Christopher Lovell Murphy, Richmond VA I do not find validation from strangers
under covers I don't need to fuck you to validate
that the jeans I slipped into the night before, still make my ass look slim
after a night crumpled on your floor Guided by fear you sacrifice your power,
drink after drink, more afraid with each passing hour Who will quench your fire crotch? What man will be there to affirm that
you have value? Your man, not by your side, you without
the self esteem to let one night slide, without knowing that someone, somewhere
will turn your body into a cum rag. How much liquor will it take to ease the
fight Did you remember to douche your ass
tonight? Slip into that attitude that hides your
face Stumble through the night on display,
feigning grace Your instincts spot on They do see thru you They are not sage They are not wise They are sharing in the same experience
of development After puberty sexual validation becomes
universally relevant You are as unique as your Polo shirt and
Gucci shoes Size up the flock to find that piece of
ass most coveted by the rest of the cocks, then make your play to be the
biggest dick of the night You have understudied to be both a frat
boy and a sorority girl depending on whether you want to top or bottom,
struggling to remember the lines, while you smoke em' only if he's got em' Layin down and knocking back, liquid
lubrication, not for your dick but for your soul, setting the stage for your
inevitable "get out of jail free card" "Girl, do you know how much I drank
last night", should be quick text in your cell phone Booze never creates, only lubricates Flavored liquor and Jager make no
promises to make a drunk a saint or create virtue in a black hole With so many crutches how do you walk? However you play it keep walking past me
I feel your need to be fulfilled and I
smell you rotting from the inside I do not need you on my arm or on my
dick I am not impressed by your charm or your
overwhelming need to know the dimensions of a new prick I don't care about the price points of
your shirt or your pants Expect my reaction to be lack luster, I
will not add to your dysfunction with sycophantic rants. I am just as happy to wake up with my
pussy, cat that is, as with a man whose last name I CAN remember The shell of the memory from the night
before, bleary eyed, dazed, marinated in cigarette smoke and soaked in stale
booze, does nothing to arouse my desire for a morning shag Pack up your labels, your over-waxed
eyebrows, and low esteem I'll stay behind to close out your tab
with my friends, my confidence, and my desire for more than you can offer - David R., Richmond, VA